


Headsets and Sheet Music

by shrugheadjonesthethird



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Cellist, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jughead Jones/Betty Cooper - Freeform, Musician Jughead, Musicians, One Shot, Romance, Smut, Stage Manager Betty, Strangers to Lovers, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrugheadjonesthethird/pseuds/shrugheadjonesthethird
Summary: “I’m supposed to check in with Elizabeth Cooper, I’m--”“Late,” Betty said, simply.She couldn’t face him, not yet. She could feel her cheeks burning with nervousness. She took a few deliberate deep breaths before turning around. When she did, her eyes were met with the bluest she’d ever seen. He quirked the right side of him mouth up in a smug half-smile. Her eyes scanned down the rest of his face, taking in his striking jawline and mesmerizing full lips. Without intention, she raised one eyebrow and bit the inside of her cheek as she was caught up in his striking good looks. She couldn’t recall the last time she saw a man as attractive as him.ORWhen Betty books Forsythe Pendleton Jones, III, a famous cellist, for Greendale’s only theatre, The Lyric, she expects an old, weathered, pompous man. Instead, she gets the very attractive Jughead Jones and he turns out to be more than she bargained for.





	Headsets and Sheet Music

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my first smut, everyone! I have been holding onto this idea since May and it's taken a lot of work to get it to where it is now.
> 
> I could not have done this without the wonderful beta-team of @cacti-evie, @peaceblessingspeyton, @bugggghead, and @happilyshanghaied. Without you wonderful ladies, this would not be a quarter as good as it is. You four have taught me so much in this process and I am eternally grateful!

Betty Cooper does not tolerate tardiness. 

 

It was Monday afternoon and the musical guest she had scheduled for that week was already fifteen minutes late. She had a schedule to keep, but considering the performance did not begin until seven that night, and it was only quarter after three, she was seemingly less worried than she’d normally be. Greendale’s only live theater, The Lyric, hosting a five day classical music symposium was apparently a bigger deal than most would think. The event would be one of their more intimate ones, only allowing twenty five people to attend. The world renowned cellist she had booked would give a lecture during the week, with two nights of performances on the final two days.

 

Betty was an exemplary professional. She worked for the only small live theater within a thirty miles radius of Greendale and often was tasked with not only stage managing, but greeting and welcoming their incoming guests along general managerial practices. Betty loved her job; it gave her the control she wanted, while still working creatively and having time to be a freelance writer on the side. She often used it to her benefit, writing reviews of the performances for online publications around the state.

 

Fifteen minutes later, the cellist finally sauntered through the door, instrument case in hand. Betty had her back to the side door when he walked in. She turned around and raked her eyes over the stranger’s form. He was tall and lean with black jeans hanging low on his hips. His white t-shirt clung to his torso, with a leather jacket draped over his arm. 

 

Betty’s throat went dry.

 

He propped the case against the wall and then turned around to look at her, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose using his pointer finger.. She had been caught staring. 

 

Betty tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but to no avail. She turned around quickly and walked to her work station, set just off stage left. 

 

The cellist chuckled to himself. He often got this reaction from women, but never from someone that beautiful. His boots thudded against the stage as he made his way to the blonde.

 

“I’m supposed to check in with Elizabeth Cooper, I’m--”

 

“Late,” Betty said, simply. 

 

She couldn’t face him, not yet. She could feel her cheeks burning with nervousness. She took a few deliberate deep breaths before turning around. When she did, her eyes were met with the bluest she’d ever seen. He quirked the right side of him mouth up in a smug half-smile. Her eyes scanned down the rest of his face, taking in his striking jawline and mesmerizing full lips. Without intention, she raised one eyebrow and bit the inside of her cheek as she was caught up in his striking good looks. She couldn’t recall the last time she saw a man as attractive as him.

 

He looked down at her with a smirk on his lips. He didn’t think beauty like hers existed in the world. He knew it was brazen, but he couldn’t prevent his eyes from lingering on her long, toned legs before making their way up the rest of her body. Her black skirt hit mid-thigh, gray v-neck camisole tucked into it. Her blond hair fell delicately over her shoulders, pinned back probably to keep it from falling into her eyes-- the most expressive eyes that he had seen on the road or otherwise. They spoke volumes without her saying a word. 

 

Betty had never enjoyed being gawked at. Her opinion of herself was not always positive, but she supposed her opinion of herself would not change the mind of perfect stranger. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but being watched by him made her tingle with excitement. She convinced herself that his stare was something primal, the reaction some men have to women, but a small tinge of something deep within her hoped that maybe it was more than that.

 

“Sorry about that--traveling on a motorcycle with a cello isn’t exactly easy, y’know,” he joked. “Now, where can I check in with the stage manager, Miss--?”

 

“Cooper. Elizabeth Cooper. Please, call me Betty. And you are?” In all honesty, Betty didn’t know who he was; based upon his appearance alone, he could have been a roadie, or any of the number of guests attending the symposium. She stuck out her hand for him to shake. He stared at it for a moment before taking her small delicate hand into his.

 

“Ah, of course you are,” he chucked. “I’m Jughead Jones. Last I checked, I’m supposed to be playing here this week. Hear anything about that?” His ever present smirk persisted as did the shade of pink on Betty’s cheeks. Their hands were still joined together. 

 

His touch was electric, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to let go. He certainly didn’t  _ look  _ like a classically trained cellist. Betty dropped his hand and fumbled through her planner, scanning for the date. “This says--”

 

“Yeah, I know what it says. Would  _ you  _ take someone seriously if their given name was Jughead? I know I wouldn’t.” He shrugged, running his hand through his wild mane. With that, Betty giggled, her earlier frustrations of tardiness long forgotten with his boyish charm. She covered her mouth with her hand, biting down on her lower lip without intention. 

 

Betty cleared her throat awkwardly and offered him a nervous smile. He shook his head playfully and snickered under his breath. He could tell she was frustrated by him when he walked in late but he seemed to have made up for that. 

 

He gazed at her for a moment, at her smile. There was no denying Betty’s beauty, Jughead noticed it immediately. Women had never been Jughead’s thing; yes, being a musician, he was used to women throwing themselves at him, always denying the advances, but this was different. He could  _ feel  _ it.

 

“No, I suppose not, Mr. Jones,” she said in the calmest voice she had heard from herself all afternoon. “If you want to grab your cello, I will show you to the green room. The dressing room is located just behind it.” She swung her arm out indicating the direction of their intended location. 

 

Betty was avoiding eye contact. After the handshake they’d shared, the only physical contact they’d had, she couldn’t top staring at his hands. They were strong, his fingers narrow, almost bony, but they moved with grace--as they would have to, being a cellist--his touch delicate, but captivating. 

 

Jughead made note of her lingering glances. He walked back to collect his instrument and followed Betty down a long corridor into their quite literal green room. “Y’know green room is just an expression, right?” He chucked lowly. 

 

“Well, I didn’t paint it, I just work here,” she threw back at him. She was going to rattle off the agreed upon origins of what a ‘green room’ was, but she was starting to calm for the first time since Jughead’s arrival, finally feeling like she could catch her breath. 

 

She was faced away from him again. Her staring wasn’t subtle, it was obvious she found him attractive, or intriguing at the very least. Her attempt to stay professional did not go unnoticed, but to Jughead, it only made her more adorable. He decided to lean his cello right next to her, purposefully caging her against the wall, his arm propped on the nearby pillar and his case. His face parallel to hers with his lips hovering dangerously close to her ear.

 

He heard her gasp at his closeness making his smirk return to his face as her eyes fluttered closed.

 

She took a deep breath in: rain and something mildly sweet filled her nose. What an odd combination of scents, but for some reason, she couldn’t get enough.

 

He took a moment to do the same, her hair smelled like honey and cinnamon, like a soothing cup of tea. It was comforting to him in a way he’d never felt.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just--”

 

“No, no. It’s-” she gulped “-it’s fine.” She tried to steady her breathing, her heart pounding into her ribcage, begging to escape. It was safe to say that Betty had never felt the way she did in that moment. Something in her warmed and a blush came to her cheeks again. Her eyes flitted to his hand as it was splayed on the pillar.

 

Jughead, the ever observant creature, noticed.

 

\--

 

The symposium had been going well, attendees were over the moon for the small theater space, the lectures and performances given. Betty felt a great sense of pride coursing through her as she heard people compliment the events she’d helped organize. 

 

She was required to be there the duration of each day, even though there were not performances every day, no lights to call. She didn’t mind. It provided her not only with a decent paycheck, but additional time to work on her articles and to catch up the books she’s been putting off reading for weeks. 

 

She sat on one of the couches with her feet tucked to the side and her coffee perched on the arm, her fingers looped delicately through the handle. She was lost in the middle of  _ Helter Skelter _ when Jughead plopped down onto the couch across from her. She did not notice the intrusion until she heard rustling. She looked up to see him erasing his sheet music furiously. She watched him curiously for a moment before swinging her legs to the floor and sipping from her lukewarm coffee.

 

Jughead pushed the sheet music away, looking to the ceiling in frustration grumbling obscenities to himself. His eyebrows flew to the center of his forehead. Sitting in front of him was not the same girl he’d met the day before. He didn’t think he’d seen anything more captivating, until he saw her like this, more relaxed, in what seemed to be a natural state for her. She sat with her ankles crossed, cropped blue jeans cutting mid calf and a bright tank top covering her shoulders. Her hair was pulled back into an immaculate ponytail. Jughead rubbed the back of his head wondering how it didn’t give her a headache. It was then he noticed what she was reading. The black and red book cover contrasting the brightness of the lace of her shirt was enough of an juxtaposition to catch anyone’s eye.

 

“Don’t you think it’s interesting? He never laid a finger on anyone, yet he rots away on death row.” Jughead stated nonchalantly. 

 

Betty looked up her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.  _ Who was this guy? _ She tucked her feet back under herself, closing the book around her finger as to not lose her place. She placed her coffee cup on the side table and leaned forward.

 

“If he was half as much of the master manipulator as he thought he was, he’d never have been charged to begin with.” 

 

His eyes found hers. “Did you know his mother tried to trade him for a pitcher of beer?”

 

“Did you know she never actually named him?” Betty said smiling. It had been a while since she’d been able to speak about something she was passionate about, not that she didn’t love stage managing, but true crime would always hold a special place in her heart. 

 

“How does someone like you know so much about Charles Manson?” Jughead asked leaning back with his arms stretched to either side of the back of the couch.

 

“What do you mean ‘someone like you’?” Betty crossed her arms over her chest, book still in hand.

 

“I don’t know. You’re--” He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by it. All he knew about her was that she was a stage manager. He had no idea anything of substance about her, but he wanted to. He shrugged, “you’re like walking sunshine. Last I checked, sunshine didn’t read about serial killers.”

 

“Last  _ I  _ checked, sunshine couldn’t read,” she smiled at him an honest, genuine smile that reached her eyes, feeling happier than she had in recent weeks. There was something about the easy banter that relaxed her. After the initial shock of Jughead’s appearance had worn off, though she still wasn’t completely unaffected, she found in him someone she wanted to talk to for hours on end, it wouldn’t matter about what. 

 

It had been too long since Jughead had someone to banter with. It was his least favorite thing about constantly being on the road. When he was younger, he would have loved the solitude, but as an adult, it was lonely. Almost cripplingly so. 

 

“Would you--” “Maybe we--” they spoke over each other.

 

“Would you, maybe, if you don't have plans--" Jughead took a deep breath- “Have lunch with me today?” He was nervous in ways he hadn't felt in years. He wasn't one to be forward with women, but he needed to know more about the crime loving stage manager before him.

 

With a shy nod of her head, Jughead forgot about the arrangement he was supposed to be writing for his performance later in the week. He had been uninspired for weeks, unable to string three notes together. He welcomed the beautiful distraction who, to his surprise, agreed to have lunch with him.

 

\--

 

It was nearing time for the performance on the fourth night to begin. After spending the majority of the afternoon together, as they had all week, Betty had left Jughead to his devices--tuning his cello, discussing his setlist with his piano accompaniment, changing into his performance attire, general relaxing and pre-show rituals. She had a few things around the theater she needed to accomplish before the show began. She busied herself with menial tasks, switching out light bulbs, refilling the paper towels in the bathrooms, sweeping the stage and tended to the guests of the symposium. Before she knew it, she was heading to the green room for the five minute warning.

 

“Thank you five,” Jughead responded.

 

“What?” Betty was caught off guard by his reply. Usually, at the five minute warning she gets shooed away or blatantly ignored. 

 

“You gave the five minute warning. I said thank you. Isn’t that what everyone does?”

 

“No. Not really,” Betty pointed her toes together. “I mostly just get ignored..”

 

“Well, where I’m from, they teach us that in middle school drama club. Always thank the stage managers and crew, without them, there’s no show.” He shrugged in explanation. Betty was impressed. She nodded her head slowly in recognition of his words and turned to walk away toward her podium at stage left.

 

Jughead Jones, classically trained musician, devastatingly handsome, intelligent, excellent conversationalist,  _ and _ polite. She wondered what planet was he from, because in Betty’s experience, it was rare to find talent, beauty  _ and  _ manners all in one package. Her mind began to wander back to the thought of his hands splayed on the pillar. His long, dexterous fingers twitching slightly. The way his hand caressed hers as they shook hands, longer than was customary, the flirtatious but subtle arm grazes she’d give him while talking over lunch, the small shoulder nudges when they joked around in the green room. They had been flirting all week, but Betty couldn’t ignore the ever present stomach knots when he was around. She wondered what they’d feel like on the curve of her waist or the inner parts of her thigh. The house lights began to dim, indicating the show was about to begin. She shook the thought from her head as Jughead was stepping next to her, right on cue.

 

Her breath hitched in her throat. She shook the thought from her head before she spoke. “Spotlight on. Center stage,” she whispered into her headset. Within seconds, a single spotlight illuminate the otherwise dark theater.

 

Jughead leaned in close. “Have a good show, Betty.” A chill ran through her up her spine to the tops of her ears. 

 

“You, too,” she managed to squeak out before he was situated on stage. One single spot light shining directly on him and his cello. The shadows creating ambient light for the pianist.

 

His head was down, the ornate bow held gracefully in his right hand. He placed his left on the fingerboard and plucked a few notes, ensuring the instrument was still tuned. He picked his head up slowly, spreading his fingers amongst the string and placed the bow delicately on the bridge. His hands moved gracefully between the four string and his wrist bent elegantly as he moved the bow across the bridge.

 

She wasn’t sure why, but something in her couldn’t look away; she couldn’t ignore the feeling building in her chest, or the butterflies that simply appeared out of thin air. They had been building all week--every conversation, every smile or sideways glance when he didn’t think she was looking. 

 

In the single spotlight, she looked him over. He was no longer wearing black jeans and a tee shirt as he had everyday that week. He adorned himself in black slacks, an indigo button down dress shirt (the color making his eyes brighter than they had been all week) - the top few buttons undone, suspenders hanging at his hips. His hair fell clumsily across his forehead, swooping nearly into his line of sight.

 

Her eyes were drawn to his hands like magnets, like they had been since she first saw him. She watched him as he continued to play, transitioning from one song to the next. He smiled toward the audience and brushed the hair from his eyes, only for it to return stubbornly to its original place.

 

“Spotlight fade. Hold.” Betty whispered, waiting for Jughead to stand and leave the stage for the ten minute intermission before she gave her next command. “House to half. House full. Thanks, Vic.” 

 

Jughead paused and watched Betty disconnect herself from her headset. She bent down slowly and picked up her water bottle from the floor. Jughead did not try to hide his interest. He bit his lower lip and watched her legs bend and flex.

 

“Having a good show, Miss Cooper?” Jughead said as she stood back up. 

 

“This may be the easiest show I’ve ever run. Single spotlight, no set changes, good scenery.” She quirked an eyebrow at him as she raked her eyes over his body. “I guess I can’t complain.” As the words tumbled from her mouth, she idly wondered where they had come from. She had been subtle about her attraction to him all week. It was not like her to be this brazen.

 

Jughead seemed just as surprised as she did by the remark. No matter where this side of Betty Cooper came from, Jughead wanted to see more of it. He wanted to know every part of her. 

 

He took the water bottle from her hand and drank deeply, returning it nearly half empty. 

 

“Thanks,” he said with a wink.

 

Betty could feel not only the butterflies in her stomach, but-- _ oh _ \--those were not butterflies, not at all.

 

Betty placed the headset back over her ears, adjusting the microphone in front of her mouth. “House to half. House out. Spotlight.” Betty muted her microphone and sighed, frustrated with herself.

 

Jughead chuckled as he made his way back to center stage. 

 

He bowed politely at the applause, “Hey everyone. Thank you for coming out tonight. Thank you to my buddy Vlad here on the piano.” The audience applauded again. Vlad ducked his head in thanks. “So, I know this next bit was supposed to be some more traditional pieces, but I’m feeling a little adventurous tonight. Is that alright by you?” Jughead was speaking to that audience, but looking Betty directly in the eyes. 

 

Her lips parted from the shock, cheeks feeling warm once again. The crowd erupted in applause egging him on with his impulse decision to change his set list. He gave a pointed look toward his pianist off to stage right. Jughead returned to his seat, situating the cello between his legs. He waited for Vlad’s cue before he began playing. 

 

Betty recognized it as Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Truthfully, it was one of her favorite classical pieces. The song picked up pace and transitioned into something more modern, popular, fast paced. It was certainly different.  _ The Eurythmics, Metallica, Nirvana _ ,  _ The Beatles _ . These certainly were not the traditional pieces she, or anyone else, was expecting. The arrangement was expertly written, each song flowed into the next flawlessly.

 

Her eyes found his hands again as they moved quicker on the fingerboard. In that moment, she thought that cello was the luckiest thing on the planet. She felt her entire body warm with desire while she watched. Betty let herself get lost in the it, let her head lull as the music fell over her. She righted slowly, returning her gaze to Jughead, only this time, he was looking back. Her mouth was dry again; no amount of water would help. She tried to swallow, but to no avail. Her breathing was hitched, as Jughead maintained his gaze while he continued to play. He watched as she trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes flutter closed as she listened and attempted not to watch his hands. She couldn’t resist for long. 

 

Betty could feel the beginnings of something unfamiliar in the pit of her abdomen. It wasn’t all together a  _ new  _ sensation, but it had never been this intense before. He had barely touched her all day, and she was reacting the way she was. She could only imagine what would happen to her if or, hopefully, when he  _ did  _ touch her.

 

Jughead saw her eyes darken, her pupils blown wide. He watched her squirm under his gaze and he was amazed how watching her made  _ him  _ feel. She was unlike anyone he’d met, her beauty knowing no bounds. The music flowed through him with a great intensity, only matched by his blossoming feelings for her. Suddenly, he remembered he was on stage, and had to will himself to look away before he got himself into a precarious situation. Before he pulled his focus from her, he winked at her and smirked.

 

She was done for. 

 

Before long, the performance was over. Jughead propped his cello into its stand on the stage and made small talk with a few audience members. He graciously, albeit blankly, accepted praise as he spoke to the attendees. His mind wandered to Betty, all he wanted to know was what she thought, though he had a vague idea. He didn’t understand why, but he wanted to impress her, wanted her to feel the intent behind his song choices. 

 

Betty quickly detached herself from her headset, grabbed her planner and made her way to her office which was just off of the green room. She plopped down into her chair and let out the breath she’d been holding since the show began. She kicked off her shoes under the desk and put her head in her hands focusing on her breathing.

 

After a few moments, her breathing finally returned to normal, her heart no longer racing, and with a quick check in her compact mirror she was relieved to see that her cheeks were back to their natural state of pale. However, it didn’t last long when she heard a singular set of footsteps approaching the green room. Her heartbeat increased again. Vic rarely came down to this part of the theater and the symposium guests were restricted from anywhere backstage. It could only be one person. Betty took a deep steadying breath in preparation just as the footsteps stopped short just outside her door.

 

“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” Jughead jested, his shirt now untucked and completely unbuttoned. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his bare chest. Betty turned her head slowly.

 

“Not hiding, working.” Her voice was quiet as she gestured to her laptop. She was embarrassed by how she conducted herself earlier on stage. 

 

Truthfully, she was hiding, hoping she wouldn’t have to face the gorgeous musician for the rest of the night, despite what her body was urging her to do. She swiveled in her chair to face the window, still able to see him in her periphery. She busied herself, straightening her already immaculate desk.  _ Curse the Cooper organizational plan! _

 

Jughead pushed himself off the door frame and walked slowly over to her.

 

With every step he took, her heartbeat raced faster and faster. Her plan of avoiding Jughead was quickly failing, but she wasn’t sure she had wanted it to work out that way in the first place. She felt the weight of his hands on the back of her leather chair as he swiveled her to face him. Betty’s breath hitched as he placed his hands on the arm rests, his face mere inches from her own.

 

Their breath mingled together, warm on the other’s face. Betty’s skin erupted in goosebumps. She looked into his eyes, watching them darken with a sinister desire she’d never experienced before, but she was sure hers reflected the same. 

 

“Hey, Betty. Oh, uh, sorry to interrupt,” a voice said from the doorway. “House is clear. I’m gonna go.”

 

“Lock the door behind you,” Betty said maintaining eye contact. Her breathing was labored in anticipation. Vic’s footsteps disappeared and the bolt lock sounded from the front of the house. The theater was empty, only the sound of their breathing filled their ears. 

 

“Enjoy the show?” Jughead teased. Betty’s eyes closed at the gruff tenderness in his voice. She knew he saw her. All she could do was nod. She tucked her head down slightly in embarrassment. She was still unsure what came over her. 

 

“You played Helter Skelter.”

 

Jughead tucked a stray hair behind her ear, feeling her face warm under his fingertips. He slowly dragged his fingers down her cheek, lingering on her neck as they eventually found purchase on her shoulder. 

 

“I was inspired.”

 

She could feel her body radiating heat from his touch. His fingers lingered on her neck, his lips ghosting over hers, his thumb delicately tracing over the blush of her cheek. 

 

Her lips parted involuntarily, and in a flash of bravery, she closed the distance between them pressing her lips to his own.

 

It didn’t take Jughead long to reciprocate her kiss. For as intense as their first interaction had been, the kiss they were sharing now was relaxed and tender. He pulled away from her, searching her face for any sign of regret but was relieved when he came up empty. He had spent all week convincing himself to make a move, but was too afraid of being rejected.

 

In one fell swoop, she felt Jughead’s hand found purchase at the back her neck, fingers dancing through her hair. With gentle guidance,  Betty was on her feet, her body pressed close against his, her forearms perched on his shoulders and fingers locked behind his neck, her heart begging for escape behind her ribs, his lungs desperate for air. 

 

They kissed fervently, and each time their lips molded together, Betty’s mind was filled with endless thoughts of how their week together had led them to this exact moment. She had never found herself so enraptured by anyone, especially not someone she’d known for only four days. The most prominent thoughts, the ones that told her how wrong what she was doing was; the thought that reminded her that Jughead Jones was a stranger, someone passing through, only to leave her alone and disappointed by the time their encounter concluded. No matter how loud that voice was, her heart believed the opposite. There was something different about him. While, yes, she was a planner by breeding, she had been spontaneous before, but not to the tune of letting a musician have their way with her in her small office in the Greendale theater.

 

Jughead’s lips nipped at her ear lobe, drawing down behind her ear. She tilted her neck to the side, allowing him better access to her neck. He made his way down her neck and onto the hollow of her collarbone. Her hand found his hair and played with the wisps around his ear, humming contentedly.

 

“You are beautiful, Betty,” Jughead whispered against her skin. 

 

Betty chuckled, letting the stream of inner thoughts from earlier get the better of her before she knew what was happening. 

 

“What?” He pulled himself away from her neck as he felt her demeanour suddenly change.

 

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” She was suddenly uncomfortable as her inner thoughts were spoken out loud. 

 

Jughead inhaled sharply, mildly insulted, although he understood the place she was coming from. 

 

“Not really.” he said, dropping his hands and taking a step back from her. “Er, not ever, actually.” 

 

Betty raised her eyebrows in disbelief. It was no secret that Jughead was not only talented, but painstakingly gorgeous. In his line of work, she thought he was sure to have women all over him.

 

“I have never, in my life, been drawn to someone like I am to you.” He admitted breathlessly. 

 

Jughead was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, ready to die in hers. 

 

She scanned his face, searching eagerly for deception, but his eyes were soft, honest, full of a vulnerability she’d never seen in him (or anyone else). He went to her again and placed a kiss, so light on her forehead she barely felt it, if not for the spark that it ignited within her.

 

Their lips crashed back together, a new intensity arising in both of them. Betty could feel the truth seeping out of him, his touch more firm and somehow warmer than it had been, spurring her actions to continue. The voice in her head now a whisper, her hands dropped from around his neck and onto his exposed chest. She raked her fingernails over his abdomen, up toward his shoulders. She felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. With a flick of her wrists, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders so that it was bunched around his back. 

 

He dropped his hands from her hair, letting his shirt pool at his heels. His hands found a new home around her waist, pulling her closer as he started down her neck again. Betty’s breath hitched, giving way to a low moan escaping her lips. Jughead smirked against her neck, wanting to hear what other sounds he could illicit from her. 

 

He felt her hand wander down the expanse of his back, feeling the ridge of his spine, making him shiver as he moved his mouth down to her chest. 

 

He turned her around, pressing her back to his chest as his mouth found the smooth expanse of her neck once more, letting his hands explore the rest of her. He reached down to smooth his palms over her exposed thighs, up to her hips. He squeezed them as Betty rolled her hips backward in pleasure and his hands continued up her ribcage. 

 

She stepped forward, breaking their contact, leaving him feeling immediately cold from the loss of her body heat. She moved her laptop into the top drawer of her desk and perched herself on top of the wooden plane. 

 

The way she looked to him caused him to move, fueled entirely by his own desire. He found his way between her legs, her skirt riding further up her thighs as she pulled him closer to her, unable to handle the distance. 

 

His hands flew to her back, working their way up to her shoulders, his thumbs sliding under the straps of her tank top. He slowly dragged them down her shoulder. His mouth bypassed her neck, finding their way to the top of her chest, placing warm kisses down her sternum to the swell of her breasts. He looked to her, ever the gentleman, seeking permission to continue. Her hands grabbed onto his inky black locks, pushing his head back to its position on her chest. This was all the permission Jughead needed. 

 

His hands splayed on her ribcage, moving toward her back, and unhooking her bra in one swift motion. She pulled her arms through the straps of both layers covering her chest before finding his hair again. She felt every soft strand through her fingers, moaning softly as his lips continued their journey down her chest. 

 

He was taking his time, savoring every inch he could find, tasting her sweet skin as he went. His hand grabbed her thigh just as his lips returned to hers. She gasped into his mouth, almost as if he had stolen the air directly from her lungs. He pulled her hips closer to his own, her legs crossing behind his back to eliminate the remaining centimeters of space. 

 

Betty smiled to herself when she remembered that she had actually worn decent undergarments.  _ Thank god for laundry day and not having any dates in the last few months. _ She could feel him against her core. His fingers inched up under her skirt, toying with the hem of her underwear. 

 

She crossed her arms in front of her and lifted her camisole over head, discarding it across the room. Her bra tumbled to the floor alongside it. She sat there, half exposed to Jughead. He groaned in response to seeing the silky skin of her bare chest.

 

“I meant what I said, Betty.”

 

“I know,” she whispered against his lips before she flicked her tongue against his bottom lip.

 

He willingly allowed her tongue access.. This kiss was not as rushed as the previous few had been, they took their time exploring the corners of each others mouths. Jughead’s hands made their way to her waist again, slowly inching toward her exposed breasts. He thumbed just under them, Betty arching her back in response. His mouth journeyed down her chest again, this time not needing to stop for any obstacles. His thumbs grazed her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. 

 

Her lips peppered kissed across his shoulders before he could take a nipple into his mouth. She gasped as his tongue glided across her hardened peak. Her skin was aflame under his fingertips. Her mind went blank as he palmed her other breast, the sensation almost being too much for her. Her legs fell inelegantly, feeling boneless under his attentive touch.

 

Jughead ground his hips into her aching core, his free hand sliding the zipper on the back of her skirt down. She pushed back on his hips; he nearly stumbled from the unexpected movement. 

 

She closed her legs placing her feet delicately on the cool tile and shimmied the skirt down her hips and onto the floor. She leaned back on her palms, her eyes shining waiting for him to make the next move.

 

Jughead bit his lower lip, his eyes not knowing where to look first. This beautiful creature before him, nearly naked was waiting for him. He undid the button of his pants, the zipper sliding down with ease. He let his pants hang low on his hips as he closed the space between them, wedging himself between her legs again. He knew it would only be a one time thing, but he allowed his mind wander as his eyes met hers again, the darkest he’d seen them in the time they’d known each other. 

 

_ What if it didn't have to be a one time thing? _

 

Betty wasted no time and pushed his pants the remainder of the way down his legs. He kicked off his dress shoes hastily, ridding himself of his slacks. Two small pieces of fabric were their only constraint. Her fingers grazed down his stomach to the elastic of his boxers. She slid her palm slowly down the front of him, taking hold.

 

“Fuck.” Jughead’s moan was guttural, reverberating through him, into Betty. 

 

His thumbs dug into her hips. They bucked into him as she whimpered, trying to anticipate his next move. He slowly dragged his fingers across her thighs, letting them linger at the uppermost point. Softly, he ran his hand over her covered apex, his featherlight touch scorching her, only fueling the fire the burned within her for him. Another breathy moan escaped her lips, she was nearly drowning in her pleasure. He repeated his action with the same response. He moved her already wet panties to the side and his fingers found just how wet she had been. What  _ he _ had done to her.

 

He ran his fingers along her core, finding her clit with ease. He slowly circled it with his thumb and dipped his middle finger inside of her. He teased inside of her, pulling his finger back out, only to add another digit when he entered her a second time. He hummed under this breath.

 

Betty’s nails drove into the muscles in his stomach, reveling in the feeling. Her breaths were getting shorter by the second as he pumped inside of her. His fingers moved gracefully, hitting spots she didn’t know could be reached. It started in her toes, it was clear she was nearly where he intended to get her. 

 

“Not yet,” she panted, she wasn’t ready for this experience with Jughead to end. She didn’t know if she’d see him again after the symposium ended, but even before this, she knew she wanted to. From the moment she set eyes on Jughead, she knew he was someone she wanted --  _ needed  _ \-- to know. She didn’t want this to be a one time thing.  _ It’s never been like this with anyone else. Maybe this doesn’t have to be a one time thing.  _ Maybe, just maybe things will fall into place and the universe would allow Betty to keep the person that has made her feel more human, more alive than anyone she’s met in her life.

 

Jughead looked at her confused, slowing his movements. Betty looped her thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and tugged them down, his erection springing free from the cotton prison. She stroked him slowly, the skin supple as she felt him pulse in her hand, drops of pre-cum already accumulating. She inched to the edge of the desk, her legs spreading apart waiting for him to take her invitation. 

 

He swallowed loudly. “You’re sure? We don’t--”

 

“Please,” her voice was quiet, nearly desperate to feel him inside of her. She wanted to know what it was to be so full from him. Her eyes were closed in anticipation. His lips connected to hers again, instantly parting for his tongue. He slowly made his way to her entrance and paused. She grabbed his hips, urging him to continue.

 

It was painfully slow to start, he eased his way into her, feeling her clench around him as he ascended. She crossed her ankles behind his back, pushing him deeper into her sex. Their eyes met. The room was silent save for their mingling breath. He rocked his hips into her, finally picking up speed. The feeling in her toes returned, her hips lifting to meet his in a steady rhythm. He kissed down her neck, paying close attention to the spot at her pulse point that he noticed was her favorite.

 

Their moans and gasps mixed together, the fire rising quickly threw her body, engulfing her in pleasure. Her head dropped back, hair skimming the desktop. His hand cradled the back of her head, crashing their lips together, a moan exploding from her mouth into his. 

 

He felt her racing heart pulse throughout her writhing body, her legs shaking, walls clenched around him mercilessly. Jughead picked up his pace, his hand finding her clit and rubbing circles around it, his movements becoming stuttered and choppy, his own sweet release on it’s way. 

 

Their eyes met quickly before hers fluttered shut again, reveling in the tidal wave of ecstasy thrashing through her. 

 

He had never heard anything like it, she was unable to even utter a word, try as she might. All she could manage were sighs and groans of relief. Jughead had heard his fair share of beautiful music in his life, but this put all of it to shame. 

 

He maintained his increased pace, his own release finding him shortly after hers,. “I’m go--” is all Jughead could manage to say before he pulled himself from her, shooting hot streams across her stomach. 

 

His withdrawal left Betty feeling empty, clenching at the loss, with her legs dangling. Though their encounter had been brief, she loved the feel of him near her, inside of her. She wanted nothing more than to get lost in him for hours on end for as long as he’d allow it.

 

They remained in silence, their breathing eventually leveling. He kissed her forehead before walking away from her still perched on the edge of the desk. He returned moments later with a hand towel from the dressing room and gently cleaned her up. 

 

Betty blushed as he dragged the towel across her stomach and tossed it into the garbage. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was suddenly nervous around him. Her heart fluttered when he gave her a shy smile. Betty stepped down from the desk, leaned down to hand him his pants and slowly began gathering their clothing from around the room, getting dressed into her own as she went. 

 

Jughead secured his pants around his hips, walking toward Betty. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, giving her cheek a gentle kiss. “Hi,” he murmured.

 

“Hey.” Jughead could hear the smile in her voice.

 

“Wanna get out of here, grab dinner?” 

 

“I think we did it backwards. Aren’t you supposed to buy me dinner  _ first _ ?” Betty laughed. 

 

Jughead shrugged. “We had lunch every day this week,” he reasoned. Jughead secured his shirt back over his shoulders before taking Betty’s hand in his own, threading their fingers together. 

 

She hummed in delight, the butterflies returning as they made their way back through the theater. “I’d love to grab dinner.” 

 

“Hey. Is Pop’s still a thing?” Jughead asked as they made their way into the parking lot. He looked to Betty, who gazed at him with adoration and confusion.

 

“What do you know about Pop’s? You’ve been here all of what, four days?” Betty smiled. “It’s an institution of Riverdale, of  _ course _ it’s still a thing.” 

 

Jughead smiled at the thought, thinking back to his childhood. It may as well been a past life. Everything was different then, simple. “I lived here, well on the Southside of Riverdale, until I was about ten,” he said as they drove down the long winding streets of Greendale. Betty glanced at him before returning her eyes to the road. His hand was on her thigh as she drove, like they’d been doing this their entire lives. His thumb grazed the skin in idle circles. Jughead wondered if this what was missing from him life, if  _ this _ was why he was incredibly miserable despite his unexpected success.

 

“Oh? I’ve lived here my whole life, but at least you got out alive.” Her laugh was dry, nearly humorless. “I’ve been trying to since high school, but, Alice Cooper would never hear of it,” she sighed. She’d lived under the tyrannical thumb of her mother her entire life, but was finally beginning to break out.

 

They pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe, the neon lights warm and inviting, as they always had been, as they always would be. They walked in, hand in hand, to the far corner booth and settled in across from one another.

 

“Why’d you move?”

 

“I didn’t really have a choice. Alcoholic father, fed up mother. I made a promise to myself then that I wouldn’t end up anything like him.” Jughead didn’t talk about his past. He’d usually evade the question or lie. He didn’t want to lie to Betty, he couldn’t.  “I found a cello in my grandmother’s basement, and the rest, as they say, is history.” He shrugged. After a few minutes of silence, he added, “I guess I never had a reason to come back here.”

 

“What about your Dad? Does he still live in Riverdale?” Betty asked. 

 

Jughead shook his head. “My Dad died a few months ago. I was at the cemetery Monday--that’s the real reason I was late.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Jug.” Her eyes pricked with tears hearing his story. She opened her mouth to speak again, but the words were stuck on the tip of her tongue.

 

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s really okay. I came to terms with it a long time ago. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen sooner,” he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “But, that isn’t what’s important.”

 

“So what is?” 

 

Jughead reached his hands across the table, taking her hands in his.

 

Betty’s eyes shifted to his. They were crystal clear filled with caution and something she couldn't identify. She could see there was more to Jughead than just being a flirty musician. He had a story to tell and she wanted to hear every word. She was enamored with him, the honesty in his eyes, the way he held her hands in his. Betty wasn't one to leap blindly into anything, but she knew. Somehow, she knew he’d catch her.

 

“I think I found a reason to come back.”

 

 

\--fin

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo, how do we feel? Should I be banished from writing the smut ever again? 
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought of this! Kudos and comments let me know you're enjoying my little corner of AO3.
> 
> find me on the tumblr: @shrugheadjonesthethird


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